


GET IT KIDS

by apfelgranate



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, Emotional Constipation, Everybody Lives, F/M, First Time, Loud Sex, Multi, Pegging, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelgranate/pseuds/apfelgranate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raleigh is <i>loud as fuck</i> during sex. Mako probably isn't, but maybe Chuck just can't hear her over Raleigh's caterwauling. And Chuck… is not as unaffected by that as he wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Chuck wakes up, the left side of his torso is screaming in agony. There's a tube in his mouth and he chokes, thrashes, desperately gasping for air; feels like he's drowning, the entire weight of the Pacific crushing his chest and he can't breathe he can't breathe _he can't breathe—_

His arm stings and the world goes black.

The next time, he comes to gradually. His back feels numb, now. The tube is still there, he thinks, but he barely feels it. His whole body is strangely unfeeling, like it simply stopped caring.

There are grey tiles above him. Mechanical humming sounds, cold white lights. It stinks of disinfectant. _Sickbay_ , Chuck thinks. _So I'm alive_. He turns his head with effort.

Herc is sitting in a too small chair next to his bed, Max sprawled in his lap. He looks fucking terrible. Chuck's never been this glad to see him.

He croaks, something meant to be _Dad_ , but the tube is in fact still there, and the sound comes out like cracking glass. Herc flinches, looks up and looks at him, eyes blood-shot, makes a noise that could be Chuck's name, small and helpless and relieved and Chuck is pretty certain he's crying by now, his vision going blurry at the edges.

Herc's hand flounders, then settles for gingerly patting Chuck's arm.

"Chuck," he says.

\---

"Stacker's alive," Herc tells him after the nurses have been through and declared Chuck capable of breathing on his own. His throat feels like it's been scrubbed with sandpaper, the left side of his back and chest prickling with returning pain. For the moment, the painkillers are still doing their job, but he has a feeling it won't be long until they don't.

"He's probably got radiation poisoning, but right now he's stable."

It's painfully obvious how deliberately Herc avoids looking at Chuck's chest. Apparently his escape pod was damaged, the metal of his armour caved in under the pressure and his left lung was almost crushed. They had to cut him out of the pod, and then out of his armour, and in the meantime his heart stopped beating three times.

He remembers none of that. He remembers that the bomb's release mechanism jammed, and that the Marshall and he were ready to blow themselves and two kaiju to bits to free the way _for the lady_. He remembers the sudden weight of Gypsy Danger, tearing the bomb from Striker Eureka's back and taking off for the Breach, Mako and Raleigh yelling over the comms, _get out get out they'll tear Striker apart GET OUT—_

—and after that, darkness.

"Mako and Raleigh made it, too. Suffered temporary oxygen deprivation, but out of the four of you, they got off easiest."

"And the Breach?"

"Closed. Collapsed." Herc laughs slightly, but it comes out brittle, and pained. "Probably should've led with that. Doctor Gottlieb says there's nothing coming through there again. Doctor Geiszler says the kaiju may well try again somewhere else. They agree on that, sort of. But…"

He shrugs, jerkily, and pats Chuck's arm again. "You just—just get better, okay?"

"Dad," Chuck rasps. Herc doesn't say anything but steps closer, right to the edge of the hospital bed, and leans over him and there's a part of Chuck that desperately wants to turn away – he kicks that part hard enough to spit blood – and the breath that leaves him as Herc kisses his forehead, dry lips pressing up against his hairline, is suspiciously close to a sob.

\---

The nurses talk to him, about how the Breach was closed. How Gypsy Danger, how Mako Mori and Raleigh Becket saved the world. Mako and Raleigh. MakoandRaleigh. That's what everyone seems to call them now. It's like they're not even separate people anymore.

Which is why he almost wonders if he's hallucinating when Mako comes to visit him and she's alone.

Well.

"I was visiting the Marshall," she says. "I thought I'd see how you were doing as well."

"I'm honoured," Chuck mutters, trying for spiteful, falling short by several miles and ending up somewhere next to stupidly grateful. He hasn't seen anyone but a revolving cadre of nurses, and two short glimpses of his father and Max in a week.

One corner of Mako's mouth quirks up. She comes to stand at the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"You almost died. Several times. I think it's only to be expected." She sounds almost flippant, and after what he learned of hers and Raleigh's frankly batshit insane plan to close the Breach – it might have worked, but fucking hell, who thought it was even remotely doable to get through the Breach with two _live_ kaiju on their tail – he feels abruptly resentful.

"I _was_ ready to die," he says before he can stop himself, "back there, we both were, to give you a chance, do you have any idea how _reckless_ —"

Mako's hands clench at her sides, a stiffness taking hold of her body. "We were too close already," she says, quiet and cutting, "it would have done no good and you'd have died in vain. But we saved you." Chuck doesn't know whether she's talking to him or to the Marshall or both of them, but the spark of resentment dies swiftly and he's left with restlessness and pain.

"…Thanks," he gets out, because that feels like the kind of thing to say, and not because he thought he'd never see his father or Max ever again.

Mako doesn't say 'You're welcome,' but he has a feeling she'd like to spit the words in his face. She simply _looks_ at him, like she's trying to see through his skin, and stifling silence falls between them, only broken when the door creaks open and Raleigh sticks his head in.

"Mako," he says, elated like an actual fucking puppy, until he sees her rigid back and his gaze skids to Chuck and back and his mouth goes thin.

"Chuck," he says, his voice carefully blank, "Good to see you awake." He steps into the room, until his shoulder is nudging up against Mako's from behind and… _something_ passes between them, communicated with a shift in pressure, in breathing, and they're not even looking at each other. Chuck kind of gets why everyone's calling them Mako _and_ Raleigh now.

"Chuck says thanks for saving his life, by the way" Mako comments, head tilted toward Raleigh. "I don't think he'll manage that again." There's no bite to her words now, they're softer, warmer, and Chuck wants to tell her that he doesn't need or want their pity, but it's not pity, it's…

He doesn't know what to call it, how they're looking at him then. His skin feels too tight.

Raleigh shrugs, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and says, "Okay. We'll be around when you get out." They say their goodbyes, Chuck does the same, and then he's alone again, in this grey-tiled, humming room that stinks of disinfectant, and the sheets of his bed feel like sandpaper against his skin.

\---

He's discharged a few days later.

There's been some reorganisation, general upheaval and the like and Chuck's still a bit dizzy with painkillers and Herc isn't the best at explaining it, but he gets that his room's been moved into a corridor reserved for the pilots. It's a bit of an upgrade. He's got his own bathroom now.

Since the Kaidonovskys are actually in worse condition than him and unlikely to leave each other alone and Herc, similarly unwilling to leave the Marshall on his own until he gets back on his feet, has pretty much set up shop next to the Marshall's quarters, it's just Chuck, the Weis, Mako and Raleigh.

The Weis have commandeered the southern end of the hallway, with two rooms empty between them and Mako's and Raleigh's – who probably didn't even have to bribe someone into getting a double room– then Chuck's. There's another room for Herc, but it stands empty. Chuck tries not to think about that.

Someone was by and brought his stuff, a cardboard box and a bag of new clothes. Max is trying to hop onto the bare bed.

"I can help you set up," Herc says, standing awkwardly inside the doorframe. There's a slump to his shoulders, and the skin under his eyes looks bruised. Chuck swallows.

"It's fine," he mutters, "'s not a lot, and you're busy."

"…Okay," Herc replies after a long, terrible moment. He looks down at Max, who's contented himself with resting his upper body on the bed, and is snuffling happily. "Be careful he doesn't lie on your chest, that kinda weight—"

"I know, Dad." Chuck still feels bruised all over, chafed from lying in stiff sheets for days on end. He wants Herc to stay, yet also wants him to leave, and he doesn't think he can take either without bursting into tears. He suspects there are torn-up parts of him, inside, deeper than his almost-crushed lung, that the surgery didn't fix – that no surgery _could_ fix.

Herc looks at him, before he leaves, like he's trying to see through his skin, through his jacket and shirt and the bandages; except where Mako was curious, here there are more things Herc doesn't bother to hide than Chuck can bear to see, so he turns away, to Max half-lying on the bed, and doesn't turn around until the door falls shut again.

\---

Midnight comes and goes and he's still awake, exhaustion making a house in his bones.

Sleeping on his stomach is impossible; too much pressure on his chest, and when he lies on his right side, even the weight of his arm draping across his chest feels too restrictive. Finally he turns on his back with a rattling sigh, wishing he still got the morphine he received on his first day after waking up, at least that had made him drowsy. There is a low murmur of noise coming through the wall from Mako's and Raleigh's room and either the insulation is very lacking, or he's talking way over room volume level but either way it's starting to piss Chuck off; he contemplates getting up and going over and telling him to shut the fuck up, but that would require energy he doesn't have at the moment.

"Oh _God_ —"

Chuck blinks.

"Oh God Mako please…"

Fucking Christ, this isn't happening.

"Don't stop _don't stop!_ "

It is.

…Figures Raleigh would be the begging type. Chuck wants to feel smug about that, but he doesn't quite manage it. Raleigh sounds like he's enjoying himself far too much, like he's having the best sex of his life and needs to inform the entirety of the shatterdome of this fact, loudly, in great detail and—

Chuck grits his teeth, clenching his eyes shut. He's not thinking about it. He is _not_ thinking about it.

When the pleas for more begin to turn into helpless, shuddering moans, he jams his pillow up over his ears, fingers dug into it, and glares at the wall like he can force additional insulation into existence by sheer will power.

He can't, but it makes him feel marginally better about the situation.

\---

Chuck is fairly certain – maybe it's more of a fervent hope, but yeah, he's pretty sure – that Raleigh is fucking with him. He is, right up until he sees Mako and Raleigh making out in a corner of the hallway by their rooms, if making out includes kissing like ten-year-olds whose only knowledge of kissing comes from badly drawn diagrams. They miss each other's mouth half the time, smiling too much and rubbing noses like cats and suddenly Chuck's belly feels entirely too warm.

It's anger, he tells himself.

After Raleigh's caterwauling keeps him awake for three nights in a row, it's not even a lie anymore. He corners Mako the morning afterwards, outside the mess hall, worn-out and cranky with it, and says as calmly as possible, "You need to shut him up." It comes out as a snarl. Mako levels a cold look at him.

"Who?"

"Raleigh!"

"Why would—"

"Tell him to keep it down at night, okay? Some people are trying to sleep."

Mako's cheeks go abruptly pink, her mouth twisting into something like a guilty smile. "I… I tried," she says in a small voice, except there's nothing bashful about it – she sounds husky, almost. "It didn't work very well."

"I noticed," Chuck bites out, trying to hold on to his anger, "Probably half the shatterdome noticed—"

"What's going on?" Raleigh says, appearing at Mako's side and Chuck really needs to figure out how he does that. He's ready to tell Raleigh himself, then, to keep his godamn mouth shut at night, but Mako nudges her shoulder into Raleigh's chest, murmurs, "Chuck thinks you're too loud," and he's never heard her sound like that, her voice low and rasping like swords sliding against one another; his anger collapses in on itself like a dying star, leaving a core of molten heat in his chest that travels downwards as Raleigh blushes bright red, fucking _smirks_ and his and Mako's bodies shift even closer together and Chuck turns on his heel without another word.

He doesn't flee, precisely, but when he slumps against the door of his room from the inside, his heart nevertheless hammers like he ran for his life.

\---

In the brief, brief moments when Chuck's libido stabs him in the back and imagines – or, tries to imagine – how Mako and Raleigh have sex, it tends to show him Mako on top, straddling Raleigh's lap with her hands wrapped round his wrists, above his head or at his sides.

It would explain the begging. It doesn't explain however, what he hears two days later, when Raleigh lets out this terrible, frustrated whine that walks right through the wall and inserts itself into Chuck's ear, from where it proceeds to ride down his spine on a wave of gooseflesh. It's slightly terrifying, how easily such a noise can affect him now.

There's a soft reverberating sound, which could be laughter.

Then: "Fucking _hell_ , stop teasing!"

And: "Just put it in me, please please please _—ah!_ "

Chuck stares up at the ceiling, the task of pressing his pillow to his ears suddenly forgotten.

put it in me

put it _in me_

That's not—how would that even—what on earth are they _doing_?

Another moan drifts through the wall, this time deep and rumbling and Chuck frantically sticks his head back underneath his pillow. It doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything, because Raleigh's noises still keep him from sleep, and just because…

He does not wonder what the explanation could be. He does not wonder about it a lot, with high frequency, and it does not eat at him that he can't figure it out – not that he's trying to figure it out, because he's not.

He's not.

\---

Chuck's laptop sits open and booting up on his desk. It's one of the old ones, with no transparent screen, one corner dented and the vent's hum is edging into annoying territory, but it's still compatible with the shatterdome's wireless system, and one of the few things that actually invoke nostalgia in Chuck. He's dug out his headphones, too. He's fairly certain this… research is going to involve looking at porn, and he doesn't trust the walls to keep the noise in – not anymore, at least.

He stares at the browser window for a solid five minutes until he manages to type something into the search bar.

Two hours later, which he spent being confused, shocked, vaguely repulsed and utterly mortified, he thinks he probably knows what Mako and Raleigh get up to – it would explain all the 'fuck me's – but he has no idea _why on earth_ Raleigh would enjoy pegging. Or why Mako would, for that matter.

In the videos, few to none of the men seem to get any significant pleasure out of it, it's more like they're trudging through until the inevitable hand- or blowjob at the end – he's watched a few, practically watching through his fingers at times because Jesus _fuck_ that's gotta be painful – and Chuck is certainly no expert on what a woman having an orgasm looks like, but he suspects this isn't it.

There has to be _something_ to it, he thinks stubbornly. Otherwise, why would Raleigh honest-to-god beg for it?

Maybe his sample size isn't large enough. Virgin or no, Chuck is far from being so naive as to think porn is the gold standard when it comes to sex. Although, he has no idea where else to look, except perhaps amateur porn…

 _amateur chick pegging hunky guy_ blinks a link at him from the suggestions at the bottom of the page. Well. It can't be worse, can it?

The audio quality is shit, or his laptop's vent has finally gone berserk, is the first thing Chuck notices. The second thing is that the camera is moving, but both amateur chick and hunky guy are sitting on the bed.

 _not your first time doing this, is it?_ someone asks in voiceover. The voice is tinny, a little distorted, but not very difficult to understand. Chuck turns up the volume.

 _first time for money_ , says amateur chick, looking up into the camera. Not so amateur after all, but something keeps Chuck from pressing backspace. She has freckles spattered all over her face, and down her shoulders and chest. Hunky guy is broad-shouldered, with thickly muscled arms. He's kneeling in front of her, bends over easily onto his elbows when she pushes him down.

_you look pretty confident._

_thanks_. She giggles a little.

 _stop flirting with her_ , hunky guy tells the voiceover, _she's supposed to fuck_ me _, remember?_

 _yeah, yeah_. someone tosses a bottle of lube on the bed. The scene cuts mid-throw, and resumes with a close-up of amateur chick fingering hunky guy's asshole, which is startling, to say the least. Chuck scoots his chair closer again. It… doesn't actually look like she's trying to finger him _open_ , more like…

 _aaah…_ Hunky guy moans when she sinks her fingers in to the knuckles. Even with the less than optimal audio, it sounds _a lot_ like the kind of noise Raleigh makes. A shiver skitters across Chuck's shoulders, and his toes curl in his boots, unwittingly.

 _you ready for more, big boy?_ Amateur chick pushes in again, the thumb of her other hand digging into the meat of his buttock hard enough to turn the surrounding skin pale.

_jesus fucking christ._

_i think he's ready for plenty more_ , comments the voiceover, the camera pulling back and panning to the side. _aren't you, big boy?_ Hunky guy laughs breathlessly and flips the camera his middle finger, then pushes himself up onto his hands and twists his head to look at amateur chick.

 _'m ready_ , he says, _come on, fuck me_. The camera pans a bit more, and suddenly Chuck can see the hard, ruddy cock hanging between his legs. It smacks against the guy's stomach as amateur chick flips him on his back – she's strong, he didn't expect that – there's a splotchy flush of blood that darkens his neck and chest, another cut, and now it looks like half the lube bottle's been emptied because hunky guy's inner thighs, balls, dick and buttocks, and amateur chick's hands where they're spreading the latter apart gleam with slick and the shiny purple head of a strap-on enters the picture and Chuck has to look away from the screen for a few seconds because there's _no fucking air_ left in his lungs.

He still hears the sound, though, and the long low moan that climbs out of the headphones and directly down his spine, dragging gooseflesh behind it, has him tensing all over.

 _talk to him_ , the voiceover suggests, _he likes that_.

 _ooh_ , says amateur chick, breathless. _you like hearing what a good boy you are?_

_yes oh god…_

Chuck forces himself to look at the screen again, if it can be called forcing when there's a small part of him – small and growing rapidly – that's dying for it. Hunky guy is dying for it, too, if the way he's grabbing at amateur chick's back and ass to haul her in is any indication.

 _eager little boy, you love getting dicked so much—_ She's panting, her cheeks and neck flushed and if she is not into this, she's a damn good actress.

 _yes, love it, please_ , he stutters. Then she grips him under the knees and pushes his legs up, pushes until he's nearly bent in half, knees up beside his ears and puts her weight into the thrusts, Chuck can see the muscles in her thighs clench, can imagine the kind of force with which she's driving into the guy and makes him scream…

He sounds like he's _dying_ every time she bottoms out, overwhelmed and losing it, and Chuck, his cock fattening up quickly, painfully in his pants, feels the same; his skin is too hot, too tight and the air in his lungs has gone thin again and he is utterly unable to avert his eyes.

There's another cut. Amateur chick has one hand wrapped round hunky guy's dick now, angry red between her fingers. She hasn't stopped ramming him, and he's still keening.

 _gonna come for me_ , she gets out in-between harsh pants, _gonna come for me like a good boy?_

_i will i will i will—_

Her hips snap into him again; he wails like a wounded animal and comes, white ropes shooting up his belly and something in Chuck's chest skips sideways.

He can't stop his hand from grinding down on his cock, or his hips from jerking up into that touch, or the whimper that slips out between his teeth as he comes in his pants.

\---

Chuck's pillow does muffle Raleigh's sex noises, but it doesn't silence them completely. Chuck considers investing in a pair of earplugs. He also considers requesting a different room, but both of these options for some reason feel like defeat. He's not giving up that easily.

He does not consider the fact that he watched the last video more than once – more than twice, far more in truth – could spell some kind of defeat as well. It certainly feels like surrender every time he presses play.

\---

The hangars of the shatterdome stand empty, all thirty of them. Hollow shells to house the giants that were meant to save humanity. Chuck stares up at the void where Striker used to rest, and feels fear sink tiny, persistent claws into his bones. He can scarcely remember ever having been anything else but a ranger, or training to become one. But he's not; not anymore.

None of them are.

Nine jaeger pilots with no jaegers to pilot. The wreckage of Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon still lies partly in Hong Kong Bay, Striker Eureka's scattered remains at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, and Gypsy Danger exploded on the other side of the Breach. And even if they had jaegers, there would be no need. The kaiju are gone.

They're gone, and they took with them the reason Chuck got up in the morning. He's not entirely sure how he managed to leave his bed every day since he was discharged.

He dreams of drowning, of being crushed under tons of water and metal, night after night, and feels useless and empty and fucking _everything_ aggravates him, but he doesn't realize what's going on until the Wei triplets start to sit almost on top of each other in the mess hall, randomly give each other these short, hard one-armed hugs during their basket ball games, and curl up like cocky obnoxious kittens in hallways listening to music with what looks like three-stranded ear buds.

\---

The Drift may be silence, but you are not alone in the Drift.

This crushing, consuming quiet is so very lonely, that when Chuck closes his eyes at night and hopes for sleep, he feels like the last person left on a cold dark world, small and helpless against the vastness of it. He feels that isolation during the day as well, standing in the middle of the mess hall surrounded by people and still feeling utterly alone, but now, in his room without Max at his side, it actually _hurts_.

There's noise coming through the wall, again. Chuck can't even muster up irritation at this point, he just wants to sleep and not dream of drowning at the bottom of the Pacific. Distantly he wonders if they're experiencing the same sense of loss he is, or if the constant fucking eases it, or if it's simply human contact and the orgasms are just a bonus and then he curses and sits up and jerks his pants down to mid-thigh with every intention of getting himself off so he can drift off in a post-orgasm haze because he just _wants some fucking sleep_.

His hand is dry, and he isn't exactly hard, or even on the way; his belly is hot with anger and frustration but nothing else and

"Mako—"

the way he's sitting, knees drawn up and close to his chest with his arm squeezed between is neither very comfortable nor conducive to his as-of-yet non-existent arousal, his chest is starting to ache

"Mako please—"

in the space behind his ribs, inside and flaring out, and he needs to sleep even if it means dreaming, means nightmares of deep dark places; he can't stand another minute of this yawning abyss inside him where his father and Striker used to fit and

"Oh God Mako Mako _Mako_ —"

Raleigh sounds desperate. Needy. Like he's in _pain_.

Like there's no way he can keep from screaming Mako's name and Chuck is abruptly, agonisingly hard, the soft pressure of his hand too much and this hurts, too, but this pain is sharp and bright; too bright for opened eyes and then, behind his clenched-shut lids, images flicker.

Amateur chick with her freckled back, hunky guy's legs thrown over her shoulders – except there are no freckles now, her hair is short and black, a strand of blue brushing her cheek, and Chuck wonders if Mako's quiet while she fucks Raleigh, or if he just can't hear her over the racket Raleigh's making; if she fucks him on his back, kneeling between his thighs, if her fingers leave bruises on his hipbones. That thought sends gooseflesh and heat down Chuck's spine, Raleigh's strong legs curled over the arch of Mako's back; he doesn't know when he managed to spit into his palm, but it slides wetly over his dick now, and he almost chokes on the moan that rips free from his lungs.

He imagines Raleigh on his hands and knees with Mako bent over him, how it would sound when their bodies met – and it wouldn't matter how hard Mako rammed him, Chuck thinks, he can't imagine Raleigh _not_ moving back against her thrusts – he imagines Mako lying on her back with Raleigh crouched above her lap, how she'd snap her hips up to fuck him, holding onto his thighs while he keened—

Chuck keens, desperately twists his head and muffles it into his shoulder as pleasure tears through him, pleasure so close to pain it only deserves the name because it ends with his hand sticky, wrapped tight round his softening cock.

He breathes harshly, panting for long moments while he rests his forehead against his knees. His head feels like it's filled with cotton wool, dulled and quiet and grey. The pain is dulled as well, and sleep finds him quickly.

The nightmares only find him in the morning.

\---

He still dreams of drowning, but those are not the only dreams that haunt him. He hasn't woken up with a wet spot underneath him since he was sixteen, but he does now; wakes with his heart racing and his dick wet, sticking to his briefs, his head filled with disjointed images of naked skin and entwined limbs that leave him hard and breathless all over again.

It's made worse by the fact that Max is sprawled over his left leg, half snugged up against the wall. Chuck extricates himself awkwardly and resists the urge to touch himself until he stumbles into the shower. He comes with gritted teeth, leaning heavily against the tiles, while he thinks of Mako's hands gripping the hollows of Raleigh's knees.

He starts noticing things.

The way Raleigh shifts when he sits down for lunch, leaning forward so the majority of his weight rests on his thighs instead of his ass. How Mako smiles at him when he does it, small and quick and… fond, a little possessive. Chuck's face grows hot and he hastily looks down at his food instead, swallowing heavily.

Mako's got a hickey under her right collarbone. It's slight, but the soft ruddy bruise is obvious in its origin – even more so when the next day, Raleigh's got a matching one peeking out from underneath the collar of his sweater.

They don't climb all over each other the way the Kaidanovskys do, but there is a deep familiarity in how close they sit, how they look at each other. Raleigh's face does a thing sometimes, when he's looking up at Mako and she smiles; a thing that Chuck is certain qualifies as a sex face.

It is, frankly, embarrassing how hard Chuck finds it to look away, to not watch out for those moments when they seem to forget that they're in public, and Mako sticks her hand into Raleigh's back pocket and gropes him.

It's embarrassing, and the thought that his dad might catch on is actually kind of mortifying. And yet, he can't stop watching.

It takes him five days to realize that Mako and Raleigh are watching him right back.

\---

His bandages have been changed, and for the first time Chuck saw what kind of mess his chest is. There are a lot of stitches, and jagged, ugly scars fanning out from above his left nipple; there are smaller, neater scars from the surgery. The skin around the scars is still bruised, though fading, bruised in sickly yellow and green and dark purple.

He asks if he can practice in the Kwoon. The answer is yes, but only alone. It grates him, but he has to concede that being thrown to the floor is probably not in the best interest of recovery.

It's easy finding an empty gym. The mats feel comfortable and familiar under his naked feet, and the stick well fits into his hands, even though he hasn't held one in a while. He hasn't practiced on his own in an even longer while, but he remembers the moves well enough.

His stamina, however, has deteriorated to practically nothing. He starts panting quickly and his heart starts beating faster, faster, in his chest. After a twist and blow he used to be able to do in his sleep, there are stars in front of his eyes, and then his knees hit the mats. Chuck gasps for air, his head swimming, barely catches himself with his hands.

It turns out he doesn't have to, because someone else's hands grip him by the shoulder, and under his stomach. The grip stays, brings him upright and as he struggles to his feet again, their body slots up against his, under his arm and Chuck tries not to hold on too tightly, but he's not exactly successful. Their hair is black, streaked blue, and his heart starts racing again.

Mako. She's not alone, Chuck sees. Raleigh's standing by the door of the gym, regarding them both cautiously.

"Are you alright? I can—"

"I'm fine, stop it."

She lets him go immediately, and backs away. Chuck sways a little on his feet without the support, and pretends in vain not to.

"You shouldn't practice when you're so exhausted," Raleigh comments after a short, uneasy silence.

"If I'm exhausted, it's _your_ fault," Chuck mutters darkly. "Yowling like a bitch in heat at all hours of the night—"

"Is that your sexual frustration talking, or are you simply still that much of an asshole?"

Chuck almost chokes on his spit. Raleigh smirks, leaning back against the wall of the gym, arms crossed in front of his chest. Mako smiles as well – baring her teeth, at least. She advances on him, and Chuck has to resist the urge to take a step back. He swallows, his throat growing dry.

"Insult him again," she says, "and I will make you regret it." She doesn't touch him, but her gaze drops to his chest for a moment, his bruised, sore chest, and the threat is quite clear.

"We've seen you watching," she says, looking up again.

"Looking's illegal now, or what?"

"Watching _us_."

"Why would I be watching you?" Chuck knows it's a weak defence, and it's obvious Mako feels the same. She cocks her head slightly.

"I don't know," she says, slowly, "but I have a hunch."

Chuck sees something move out of the corner of his eyes.

Suddenly Raleigh is like a hot brick wall at his back and Mako, smaller and slighter and far more unyielding is so close in front of him; the air in his lungs is scorching to nothing, the room too narrow, the walls closing in…

"I think you want to watch us fuck," she says. Each word is like a nail driven into a casket.

"We'll let you," Raleigh adds, leaning over Chuck's shoulder, breath burning up the side of his neck. "If you ask nicely, and manage to sit still and keep your mouth shut while we do it."

A small, strangled noise escapes Chuck. They hear it, and smile, and he feels like a mouse caught between two cats. He's never wanted to say _yes_ more in his life, but the only sound he manages is a soft, "Oh."

"Think about it," Raleigh says.

"The offer stands for tonight," Mako says.

They share a look over his shoulder, and then they step away, taking heat and close space with them like it never existed. Raleigh picks up their sticks and they leave him alone again in the gym, and that's when Chuck finally allows himself to deflate, sagging onto the mats again with a heavy, shuddering sigh. He feels like he's got sparks skittering over his skin where Mako touched him, his dick perked up in his slacks, and he wants…

God, he _wants_.

\---

By eight pm that day, Chuck has a solid plan formulated. Knock on their door, ask _nicely_ to engage in voyeurism – he can be polite, he just rarely bothers with it – watch while keeping still and quiet, leave again. Most likely have a desperate wank once he's in his own room again. No one but them has to know.

Easy.

In theory. In practice, his heart beats so hard in his chest like it wants to bruise him from the inside before he's even lifted his hand to knock. He manages it, a harsh _rap-rap-rap-rap_ staccato, and regrets it instantly. What if it makes the dreams, and the fantasies, even worse? What if he won't be able to look at either of them without getting hard ever again? What if—

"Hey, Chuck." Raleigh fills out the doorframe, wearing sweatpants, his dog tags, and a baggy, worn-out tank top. Practically half his chest is visible.

Something squirms in Chuck's belly. He _wants_ to watch. And if this is the only chance he'll get…

"Can—can I watch you two?"

Raleigh raises his eyebrows. "Is that as nice as you can get?"

Chuck grits his teeth. "Can I watch you two fuck? Please."

Raleigh grins and moves aside. The room is unsurprisingly bigger than Chuck's own, with two beds pushed together against the wall, the two nightstands on top of each other, a small desk and two chairs, and the tiny bathroom consisting of a toilet, shower cubicle and a sink with a bit of tiles at the far end. Photos are plastered onto the walls, and the desk is covered with partial models of jaegers, and blueprints.

Mako is sitting in one of the chairs, towelling her hair.

"Hi," she says and pushes the second chair in his direction with her foot. "You can sit here. Don't put your boots on the bed."

Chuck sits down awkwardly, feeling utterly out of place. Mako and Raleigh seem to be mostly unbothered by the entire arrangement, which exacerbates the feeling.

Raleigh locks the door and proceeds to root through the nightstands, throwing first a box of single-use gloves onto the beds, a tub of lube that looks half-empty already, then puts a pack of condoms and something wrapped in a thin towel on the top nightstand. Mako's finished drying her hair, and now cards her fingers through it.

"Want the harness tonight?" Raleigh asks over his shoulder. She shakes her head, and confusion covers the uncomfortable arousal that's been brewing in Chuck's belly ever since he left his own room. How is she going to fuck Raleigh without a harness? It seemed like an essential part… He wants to ask, but he doesn't want to get kicked out, either, and he's supposed to keep quiet.

So he watches silently while Mako gets up, drops the towel over the backrest of her chair, and steps between Raleigh's spread legs, who has sat down on the edge of the front bed in the meantime. Raleigh's hands settle on her hips, pushing underneath her shirt, rucking it up and Chuck thinks he nuzzles her belly, but he can't actually see from the angle he's got, just Mako's back, a bit of her side and Raleigh's shoulder.

"Can I eat you out first?" Raleigh sounds like he's smiling. Mako laughs softly, her head tilting back. "Yeah," she says, bends down and kisses him. It's a 'how ten-year-olds think kissing works' kiss again, but as a prelude to sex, it's strangely arousing, and Chuck surreptitiously scoots his chair to the side to see better. His heart rate isn't exactly slowing down from the almost panicked beat it held before, but the utter weirdness of the situation has left him. Arousal is simmering in his belly, and it grows quietly, relentlessly, as Mako drags Raleigh's tank top up from his torso, then takes of her own shirt and discards both of them onto her chair. She hits it, too, without looking.

Mako's belt and pants hit the floor shortly afterwards and about thirty seconds later Chuck realizes that none of this is for him, not really. They're not putting on a show for him. Watching them is nothing like porn, not even the stuff that hit him where it counted – this is far, far worse.

This the sigh Mako lets out as Raleigh draws her up his naked chest, the movement of Mako's arm when she grabs his hair, the muffled wet noise of her cunt settling over his mouth. The muscles in her back and ass and thighs tense, rippling in catch-and-release, the rolling movement of her body, of Raleigh's body underneath her, rising up against empty air like he just can't help himself, and Chuck can't, either; he twists in his chair, slightly so it can't be called movement yet, but there is something at the base of his spine that craves it, wants pressure and friction and something – some _one_ – to writhe against.

This is Raleigh muttering encouragement, soft, barely intelligible words in the spaces when Mako lets him, dampened groans and Mako's hitching breaths; these are sounds that hook barbs into Chuck's skin and _pull_.

By the time Mako stiffens, soundlessly, and arches, Chuck's trousers have become prison and relief at once, chafing along his dick, and his fingers are stiff with tension, dug into the chair. The muscles in his back are starting to knot up.

Raleigh says something that sounds Japanese, and Mako giggles, flopping to the side, onto the bed. She pats Raleigh's dick, which is tenting his pants up, and his mouth goes slack, groaning.

Chuck can see a wet glint on his lips, his chin, smeared along one cheek. He looks away, breathes deeply, hopelessly trying to calm his jackhammering heartbeat. It's in vain, and trying to tell himself he doesn't need to see anymore, is as well.

When he focuses on the two on the bed again, Raleigh's struggling out of his slacks. His dick smacks against his stomach, ruddy and hard, and once he's got one leg free, Mako straddles said leg and rolls a condom over his dick. It's a smooth move, obviously familiar, and Raleigh's not the only one making noise when she strokes him with a dry hand.

Chuck bites his lip hard enough to hurt. Raleigh's breathing harshly, mutters _fuck_ twice, says, "Don't have to butter me up, not like that at least," and laughs when Mako shoves him onto his back. She grins as she puts on one of the gloves.

"Patience."

"Been patient all day."

She climbs between his legs, shouldering the knees apart when he draws them up, screws open the lube and it feels like someone's forcibly pushing the air from Chuck's lungs before he's had his fill, even though he can't see Mako's hands move, can't see anything but Raleigh's bent leg and Mako's folded one underneath, the curve of her back and shoulder and breasts, her focused expression, Raleigh's flushed chest, propped up on his elbows, his eager half-smile… and the sudden shiver that runs through his body, spreading out like ripples on water from his hips.

He moans. Quiet at first, and then abruptly, loudly, and it's nothing like hearing it through a wall. The hairs on the back of Chuck's neck stand up with a bone-deep shudder that cascades down his back and ignites between his legs and

"C'mon, more, _more_ —"

there's a small part of Chuck that thinks he might come without a hand on his dick before this is over. Raleigh tries to move against Mako's fingers – that hits Chuck with staggering force, that Mako has her fingers _inside_ Raleigh now – except he's got no leverage to lift his hips with his shoulders off the bed and one of his legs hooked loosely over her shoulder ( _when did that happen_ ), and it should be fucking obvious to him; Chuck would have planted his feet on the bed and fucked himself on her fingers from the start if he was that eager to get…

His heart stumbles a little, imagining Mako looking down at him the way she's looking at Raleigh now, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, and leaning down and kissing him. Raleigh gasps and grabs Mako's arm, the one moving between his legs, says her name and, "I'm ready, don't make me wait," and Mako husks out a small "Okay."

She drags the glove from her hand and throws it inside-out to the floor, unwraps the towel and takes out what looks like a standard dildo, if it weren't for the strange bulb at one end, and Chuck wonders again how that is gonna work until Mako slicks the bulb and slides it up between her legs and the thing sits there, obnoxiously bright purple, smooth and curving slightly upwards, looking like it belongs to her body.

Raleigh leans past her to grab another condom and fumbles it onto the dildo; they kiss again while he does, which seems awfully distracting, but then Mako squeezes lube on her dick and he's scrambling over onto his hands and knees.

"You ready?"

"Yeah, give it to me—"

"Please don't finish that sentence," she whispers, her voice low, and tight with restrained laughter. Raleigh just huffs out a breath, like a chuckle, and rubs his ass against her crotch.

"Fuck me, please."

It takes Chuck a moment to realize that he's holding his breath, and he inhales, falters, for air as Mako settles one hand on the small of Raleigh's back, phantom pressure a mirror at the base of Chuck's spine, and guides her dick inside Raleigh's body. He groans like he's wounded, deep, reverberating. He's…

Raleigh is _loud_.

Chuck thought he knew that, but it turns out that he really, really didn't, because it's one thing to hear him through a wall – to listen to him – and another to sit in the same room, with less than five feet of air between them, to have his ears ring with it; every mewl and moan and plea crashing into him, fuelling an already burning-bright fire to roaring, to agonising desperation. It drags to the surface every instance where he thought – for mere fractions of a second –, _I want to know what that feels like_.

Mako grabs Raleigh's hips with both hands and seats herself to the hilt, tearing a strangled sob from him, has him dropping down onto his elbows with the second slow, deep thrust, his forehead falling against the sheets, a litany of _don't stop don't stop please don't stop_ pouring forth, and that is when Chuck's hand ends up between his own legs, bearing down hard on his aching dick.

" _Oh fuck,_ " slips out from behind his teeth, small and anguished, and he can _see_ Mako's movement stall for half a second, hesitating, can see how her grip firms further; there is a deliberation to her next thrust that is new, an intensity that seems… hungry.

She kisses Raleigh's back, nips him between the shoulder blades, fucks him long and deep and grinding, fucks countless blissful sounds from him, and Chuck realizes that she really is quiet, except for her breath that comes crashing from her mouth in thunderous, sharp exhalations. His hand is still trapped in the small hot space of his thighs and cock; he didn't mean to touch himself ( _don't move_ ), he didn't mean to be this easily undone and when Raleigh's moans and Mako's pants twist round each other, into a noise that asks not for permission before it takes Chuck apart, his orgasm blindsides him without warning, with pleasure that bites and stings and makes a mess inside his briefs, leaves him trembling violently.

He's made noise, he's sure, couldn't keep quiet when it felt like being stabbed, but it doesn't look like Mako and Raleigh heard him, the way they're moving with each other; frantic, urgent, something reckless and wild woken up and driving them now, right until…

Mako's mouth opens on a silent moan, one that seems to eat the sound in the room, eats it and spits it out in one long, jagged breath that rocks her body, her body that quivers until it quiets, and slumps along Raleigh's. He wheezes, robbed of sound for a moment, but then he whines, high, distressed, squirming desperately under her still weight.

"Come on, 'm so close, _move_ , for the love of—"

"Give me—just give me a second…"

"Mako _please_ fuck me, just fuck me—"

" _Raleigh_ ," Mako breathes, then wraps her arms around his chest, knees his legs further apart, splays them so wide he slips, falling against the bed, stretches herself out along his back and rams him into the mattress with her entire body, over and over until not ten seconds later Raleigh jolts and cries out, half-muffled into the sheets, thrashing weakly.

Chuck has to remind himself to breathe again, muscles rigid and smarting with tension and _oh god no_ , he's grown hard again, tender and suffering the rasp of fabric even more than before. His eyes burn, like he hasn't blinked in far too long.

Raleigh quiets slowly; short, sobbing gasps burst from his mouth, shaking his body, while Mako moves with slow, measured focus, her hands petting his sides. Finally, they both still. Raleigh laughs, breathlessly.

"Fuck, that was amazing."

Mako just hums in agreement.

"World Series sex, I'm telling you. Except for the part where you flopped around like a dead fish." Raleigh twists his head to shoot her a look over his shoulder, smirking. The smug expression is a little hampered by the fact that he's still panting for air. Mako swats him, but she's grinning. Her hips twitch a little, and Raleigh moans softly.

"You wanna go again?"

It takes Mako a moment to answer, but her voice is low, heated, when she does. "Yes… you want to?"

"Ask me again in an hour or something. 'S too much now…"

"Did I wear you out?"

"Yeah," he says, sounding more blissed-out than Chuck's ever heard _anybody_ sound. He feels like he's intruding again, that he's overstaying his welcome, although neither Raleigh nor Mako are paying him any attention at the moment; Mako is nuzzling Raleigh's shoulder, peppering quick kisses along his back as she pulls out of him. It happens with a filthy wet sound, though she moves carefully, and Raleigh's hips jerk up, like he's not quite ready to let her go.

Chuck needs to leave; he needs to leave now so he can hump into his fist in the privacy of his own room and not think about Mako spreading his legs apart, and her breath hitting the nape of his neck, her hands on his thighs, pressing him down into – except he couldn't lie on his stomach, but he could lie on his back, or sit in her lap, and he could see how her mouth falls open when she comes…

He doesn't leave, because for once his stubbornness has deserted him, instead he sits awkwardly while they get rid of the condoms, and Mako, after she's removed the dildo, gets a wash-cloth. Raleigh keeps kissing her once she sits down again, and the clean-up is sloppy at best, as a result. It's sweet, if Chuck were prone to use the word to describe anything other than Max, and a different kind of warmth, slow as molasses, starts making a home under his diaphragm.

He almost startles when Raleigh focuses his attention on him. His gaze travels the length of Chuck's body, his mouth pulling into a smirk on the way.

"You enjoy yourself there?"

Chuck considers lying, but his dick is still tenting up his trousers, and there's probably a wet spot on the front by now. He hasn't checked. "I—I did, yeah."

Mako smiles, too, when she looks him up and down, and Chuck swallows furtively.

"Mako," Raleigh says abruptly, turning to look at her with widening eyes. She looks at him too, this silent communication passing between them that Chuck's never managed well with his dad; when they both look at him again, moving eerily in sync, it's like being hit with searchlights. And Chuck, like a fucking deer, freezes up, unable to move or speak.

"You wouldn't mind," Mako says slowly, glancing at Raleigh.

" _Definitely_ not," he replies, and gives Chuck an encouraging nod, which he has no idea what to do with, until…

"Can I fuck you?" Mako asks.

"What?" It doesn't come out as a squeak, but it's a near thing. Mako blushes, and she sounds a little less sure when she repeats the question. Still, Chuck breathes as though he's been gut-punched, left heaving and dazed.

"Are you—are you serious," he gets out, while blind, greedy arousal scales his spine, fogging up his mind. _Say yes_ , it screams, _say yes say yes you fucking drongo what are you waiting for—_

"I'm serious."

_—say yes say yes SAY YES—_

"Yes," whispers Chuck.

Both Mako and Raleigh look slightly surprised, but their expressions quickly turn into… well, leers. Mako swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Come here, then."

Chuck stands as if in a haze, lets Mako take his hand and pull him down into her lap – she's gentle, and careful, about it and he wants to tell her she doesn't have to be, he's not made of glass, but the words fail him – and cups his hips with her hands. He's never sat in a naked girl's lap before. It feels surreal.

Then she tugs, and his hard-on brushes against her stomach and reality comes crashing back in. His skin is lighting up where Mako's warm body touches his, even through the fabric of his pants and shirt, and when she tilts her head up, his mouth misses hers by only half an inch. But it feels _good_ , even though he is utterly out of his depth, and maybe he should tell Mako that, something along the lines of, _I've never actually had sex_ , but he suspects she knows already, and it's none of Raleigh's business anyway.

Raleigh, who's watching them. That sends an unexpected frisson of heat through Chuck, but there's no way he'll back out now, not when that wild, hungry _thing_ at the base of his spine has grown to fill his mind with craving, and keeps growing with every brush of Mako's lips against his.

Her fingers hook into the waistband of his pants; "Can I?" she asks against his lips, and then proceeds to unbutton them when he nods eagerly. He sighs in relief when the pressure on his dick finally eases, a sigh that turns into a strangled groan when Mako gropes him, and his hands fly up to clutch at her shoulders.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "too hard?"

"No," Chuck says, trying desperately not to hump into her hand, "no, just—surprised me." She does it again, a grin tugging at her mouth. This time Chuck is helpless to stop his moan, or the jerk of his hips. Mako doesn't seem to mind; grip tightening, she leans into him and drags her teeth over his collarbone, pinpricks of sensation that aren't pain yet, but a sweet warmth instead. She rucks down his pants as far as they'll go with him still sitting in her lap, which isn't far.

"Take these off for me?"

"Yeah, hold on—" Chuck's knees are unsteady as he stands up again, but he manages well enough, struggling out of his boots without falling over, then slides down both his pants and briefs in one go, and steps out of them. His dick bounces as it comes free, probably looking awkward and kind of ridiculous, and he tries to ignore the embarrassment that tries to creep up on him while he takes off his socks.

When he straightens, Mako is watching him intently, with the same kind of quiet intensity she focused on Raleigh when she sat between his legs.

"You gonna take of your shirt?" Raleigh asks from behind her. Chuck glares at him, fingers fisting already into the hem, when he remembers the bandages and the patchwork of bruises peeking out from underneath them, and drops his hands.

"No."

"Sure." Mako shrugs and scoots to the side, then bats at Raleigh's leg. "Make some room for him." Raleigh rolls his eyes a little, but he does as he's told, and slouches along the wall so the front bed and half of the rear one is free. The sight of the empty spread of sheet makes Chuck's heart beat faster, heavier, and his dick twitches slightly as he remembers Raleigh lying there with Mako on top of him, and his fucking _noises_ —

He sits down quickly, and draws his legs up on the bed when Mako does the same, his thighs splaying open. Mako's gaze drops to his right thigh. On the inner side, above the knee, are nine plain black marks in two rows, striker's kill count etched permanently into his skin.

"Where's the tenth one?" she asks, as Raleigh sits up to get a look. Chuck blushes under their combined scrutiny, squirming slightly, which is embarrassing in and of itself, because it's not like they're judging his dick, and both of them are _still_ more naked than he is.

"Things were too busy," he mutters.

"I can imagine," Mako says softly, eyes fixed on the tattoos, and lays her hand on his knee, slides it up his inner thigh until her thumb meets the line of his hip. She kisses him, and Chuck's eyes fall closed.

"Lie back and relax."

"And think of England?"

Mako nips his chin for that, gives him a gentle shove, and he lets himself fall backwards. She settles between his tucked up legs, and her hand is curved around his knee, her middle finger resting on the spot where his tenth kill count tattoo would have gone if he'd ever gotten around to getting it. Chuck thinks she can feel his war drum heartbeat there; the skin on the inside of his thigh feels far too thin since she touched him there. She glances at Raleigh, who scoots close and closer, and Chuck's throat dries up.

"I don't—I mean, I'm not—" is all he gets out as Raleigh stretches himself out next to them, chest still flushed pink and sweat gleaming on his skin.

"Relax," Raleigh murmurs, "I'm not gonna touch you. Not unless you want me to." Chuck is abruptly aware of how raw, how rough his voice is, like he's screamed himself hoarse – and he has, Chuck realizes with a shiver. Mako fucked enough noise from him to fill a fucking cathedral.

She snaps on a pair of gloves, screws open the lube again, and Chuck would be lying if he said that underneath his seething arousal nervousness wasn't fast bubbling up.

"Mako knows what she's doing, trust me."

"I know, I saw," Chuck says. Mako smiles slightly, glancing up his body.

"Tell me if you don't like it," she says, and slides cool, slick fingers down his shaft, over his balls and into the cleft between his buttocks, nudging against his hole. Chuck lets out a shuddering breath; the touch feels alien, too smooth and slippery. She rubs around the rim a few times, then prods softly, until the muscle gives and the tip of her finger slips inside. It feels—strange, and utterly unfamiliar, but it's not painful, or even uncomfortable. Chuck cants his hips up, and her finger slides in to the knuckle. Something under Chuck's skin starts buzzing, a delicious little thrill running through him, and he answers _yes_ almost instantly when Mako asks, "Another one?"

"Don't think even I was that eager," Raleigh comments.

"Fuck off, Becket," Chuck grunts, but he doesn't bother putting actual anger in the words. He's pretty sure Raleigh just wants to get a rise out of him, and the only one he's getting is the upward motion of Chuck's hips when Mako sets two fingers at his hole.

This time is slower; he feels the stretch now but the alien pleasure of it also increases, and then she twists her fingers around inside him, around and _up_ … and his entire body bucks, that small thrill turned into a brutal roar of sparks, a wrecked moan falling from his mouth.

"What—oh god, what are you _doing_ ," he pants, writhing, legs trembling violently, doesn't know if he wants to get away or closer, and then Mako does it again, fingertips curving up inside him, dragging over the same spot and he whimpers with overwhelming pleasure, tries to follow the touch, tries to get closer, closer, closer.

"Does it feel good?" she asks.

"Yes, _fuck_ , what is—"

"That's—that's your prostate," Raleigh says with a small, disbelieving laugh. "You didn't know about that?"

Chuck didn't, and he doesn't care how smug Raleigh sounds when he continues, "Those can be pretty sensitive. Looks like you're the same as me in that regard," as long as Mako keeps moving her fingers like she is now, inside, curling up and out again, driving him mindless with how good it feels.

"I think he can take another one," Raleigh whispers, "Can you?"

Chuck lets out a garbled _yes_ , and his hands fly up above his head to grasp frantically at the sheets when Mako drives three fingers into him. His eyes are clenched shut, and he breathes like a half-drowned man as she opens him up, as he can slowly feel himself being stretched, growing… not loose, but pliant.

He whines when Mako eventually drags her fingers free. Raleigh chuckles, and Chuck wants to punch him, but more than that he wants Mako to get back inside him, to fill that suddenly empty space.

His t-shirt has crumpled under his armpits from his squirming, half his chest exposed, and Mako lays a soft kiss on his sternum before she freezes for a second, then tugs it down again, as much as possible. Chuck's face burns, feels like he's blushing all over, and his throat grows tight with greed as he watches her slide the dildo between her legs again, the minute flutter of her chest, her hand pushing under his right knee, folding the leg up against his torso to spread him open and he thought 'gagging for it' was just an expression but it's not, it's not, his throat feels like it's closed up, mere thin sips of breath ripping through, his chest begging for huge, gasping lungfuls of air he can't let himself take because he is _not that desperate_ , he's not gagging for Mako to fuck him—

—except he is, and Raleigh knows it. Mako knows it, too, if the way she's smiling down at him is any indication; her hand is firm in the hollow of his knee, pinning him to the bed.

"You gotta tell her, you know; what you want," Raleigh says, conversationally if it weren't for the way his voice drops at the end. "You wanna get fucked, you have to say so."

"Oh god, _shut up_ ," Chuck groans and Raleigh fucking laughs, throaty, like gravel.

"Believe me, you want her to fuck you," he husks. "You think her fingers felt good? Just wait until she gets her dick in you proper, you'll be begging for it."

"Raleigh, if you don't—"

"Wrong name. Ask her, come on."

Mako reaches down with her free hand, presses the tip of her dick against his hole and Chuck's hips jerk viciously, trying to get her inside, but he's stuck, and his next breath is frantic, punching out from his lungs with the last of his stubbornness and the plea spills from his tongue in one rushed exclamation.

"Mako, please—please fuck me—"

"That's it—"

She says nothing, but finally pushes inside of him, slow and relentless and for a second he really can't breathe, until his body yields and the intrusion is no longer that but welcomed, so eagerly the last few inches slide in easy, till Mako's hips rest against his buttocks.

It different than her fingers, not just so much bigger but more solid, less flexible, and yet the first drag out again has him mewling with need anyway.

Raleigh makes a shuddery noise next to him. "She's filling you up good, isn't she," he says raggedly, just as Mako pushes in again. It drives a ruined sound from Chuck, this thickness in him, how it feels larger still, so big and blunt

"Always feels bigger than it looks, don't worry—"

"Oh god, fu-fuck—"

"…You'll get used to it."

" _Aah_ …"

and yet Mako moves in him with—with care, or tenderness, he can't, can't think with the tip of her dick stroking that spot inside him and Raleigh's voice in his ear and

"Told you she knows what she's doing."

he tries to hold on to her shoulders, but his fingers won't obey him, shaking and fickle, so it ends up as a fumbled nudge, she's so warm under his palms, he can feel the thrum of her heartbeat, the growing hesitation in her movements…

"Chuck, are you all right?"

"Don't— _don't stop_ ," he breathes, almost panicked, muscles tensing. Inadvertently, he clenches around her dick, and that ignites even more sparks between his legs, roaring up his spine, his mouth going slack with a helpless moan.

Mako breathes harshly, grabs his left hip to lift it, hilting into him with unforgiving slowness.

"You have to tell me," she gets out, barely audible, "Chuck, you have to tell me—"

 _Tell you what?_ he thinks before his mind nearly whites out again; how is he supposed to speak when he can't even hold on to her, when every push wrings a distressed moan from his throat, when his entire body feels like it's coming apart at the seams?

"Does it feel good?" Raleigh asks.

"W-what," Chuck manages to stammer.

"The way she's dicking you now, does it feel good? Getting fucked slow and deep until you're so full with it you can feel it in your chest…"

"Unh—"

"So good it almost hurts, it feels like that?"

"Ah—y-yes…"

"Do you want it harder? Or, maybe you can come like this, just like this."

"I-I don't know—ah…"

"You want to try?"

" _Please_ …"

"Is that a yes?" Mako breathes, bending down, close enough to brush her nose against his, her body warmth hitting Chuck all over.

" _I don't know!_ "

His head rolls back, overwhelmed, it gets him a sucking kiss in the hollow of his artery, a sudden spot of heat and he whimpers, clenches up again, his hands flailing for purchase; one finds the bed sheets, twisting up the fabric, and the other one lands on Raleigh's lower arm, fingers curving and gripping tight before Chuck even realizes he's got muscle under his palm – and then he can't bring himself to let go, not once he's finally managed to hold on to something.

Raleigh hisses, but he doesn't pull away; instead, his voice drops another octave.

"I don't think he needs it harder… You're clamping down on her cock already, aren't you." As though Raleigh pulled the trigger, Chuck does it again, helpless to control it, and Mako's breath _hitches_ , her hips stuttering, grinding in even deeper, before she gets back into her rhythm.

"She can feel that, if it's hard enough," Raleigh whispers. "Come on, clench up for her."

"I-I _can't_ —" Chuck gets out because even though his inner muscles squeeze again, he can't control it, he's beside himself, overcome with feverish pleasure long ago, he can barely think or speak; and he can feel himself rushing to meet the crest but never quite getting there, almost more than he can take and yet not enough, not enough just a little more more _more_

"You want me to touch you?" Raleigh says, right into Chuck's ear.

"Yes," he cries without thinking, "yes yes yes—" yet no touch comes and Chuck wants to howl in frustration, manages to focus on Raleigh, who is looking up at Mako like he's… asking for permission, fucking Christ, and she gives it, the barest nod, and then Raleigh is touching him, his body aligned along Chuck's side, hot, sticking with sweat, and his _hand_ , moving counterpoint to Mako's hips, her cock, reaching so deep it makes his muscles lock up.

Everything else was fire and sparks and it drove him to desperation but this – both their bodies pressed against his, on him, inside him – this turns into _lightning_ ; and Chuck sobs in agonized frenzy as it shoots through him.

Mako and Raleigh fuck him through it, through every warm slick hitting his belly, every crash of thunder that rolls through him.

Eventually the storm subsides, except Mako is trembling, her hips giving aborted hitches, "Can I—" she rasps, "Chuck, I want to—"

"Yeah, god, do it," he gasps out.

She lets go of his thigh, braces her hands on either side of his waist instead, ruts into him. He tries to hook his legs round her back, but there's no strength for it left in him, his body feels boneless, his head is spinning, and the sensation of her moving inside him is edging into painful although every thrust still sends a weak sputtering of sparks up his spine and he wants to watch her come while she's still inside him, so badly it's almost a taste in his mouth.

She's red-faced, a strand of hair clings to her jaw, thin sheen of sweat on her cheeks and neck, her fingers digging bruises into his hip and thigh; and Chuck's heart refuses to calm.

"Mako," Raleigh says, voice shot, chest heaving, sits up and nuzzles into her neck, and Mako bites her lip, eyes closing and jabs into Chuck, punching another mewl from him. The motion cants his hips up even further, his legs too, and he manages to cross his ankles over the small of her back, clinging weakly; and six short, harsh thrusts and five seconds later Mako's mouth opens on a near-silent moan, her shoulders quaking.

The slow-as-molasses heat begins to creep back into Chuck's belly and chest, even as he keens softly at the rough handling.

"Sorry," Mako murmurs with an apologetic smile, after she's slumped down onto her elbows. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he sighs, hurting a little but too blissed-out to mind. "Yeah, 'm good."

\---

Twenty minutes later, Chuck is sitting mostly dressed on one of the chairs again, putting on his boots. His t-shirt was not quite ruined, but definitely unwearable, and Chuck put up only a token protest when Raleigh offered to lend him one of his own. He's trying to figure out how to say goodbye, when he hears Raleigh speak.

"Maybe he can ride you next time," he says. Mako lets out an appreciative hum, and Chuck goes very still. It takes considerable effort to look up from his boots, to the two of them curled up on the bed, where Raleigh sits leaning against the wall and Mako rests sideways in his lap. Raleigh's idly stroking her belly.

"Next time?" Chuck says hoarsely.

"Sure, why not?"

There is a very small part of Chuck that is of the very firm opinion that 'next time' should be right the fuck now, but the rest of him is blissfully fucked out, good on the way to dead tired, and thinks 'next time' can wait until tomorrow. But not much longer than that. Fuck, he's blushing again.

"…Yeah, okay," he says once he unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Okay. Sure."

Mako smiles, like a cat that got the cream, and every mouse in the milk cellar. Raleigh's grin isn't much better.

"Cool. See you at breakfast, huh?" he says and Chuck nods in reply, still a little dumbstruck and weak-kneed.

"Sleep well," Mako adds.

"…Thanks," Chuck says, quietly, to the floor, feeling very warm.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say a quick thank you for all the lovely comments on the main part, you guys are great <3

Because the universe apparently has it out for Chuck, drift withdrawal hits him hard the next night, after he has left Mako's and Raleigh's room. He spends two hours huddled under his blanket, curled around Max, but still desolate cold seeps into his bones. When he has to fight down tears for the third time, something in him snaps.

It's late, past midnight, and very few people are still up and about in the living quarters. Nobody sees him as he walks to Herc's quarters, Max' leash in one hand, his blanket slung over his shoulder. He knocks, loudly, before he can change his mind.

There's a heavy lump growing in his throat as he waits. He feels like he's six years old again, crawling into his parents' bed after a nightmare.

When the door finally creaks open, he is hit with the wretched realization that Herc looks just as terrible as Chuck feels. The bruised shadow under Herc's eyes has darkened and his skin carries a sallow colour, the lines around his mouth carved deeper than usual. It hadn't occurred to Chuck that his father could be suffering the withdrawal as badly as he does. And maybe he's not, maybe it's because of the Marshall, but…

_I can't sleep alone_ rises from his lungs, but it gets butchered on the way, maimed beyond recognition, and what comes out instead is, "There's a loose spring in my mattress."

Herc frowns, glances back at his bed, at the mattress, military-issue like the one in Chuck's room, not very thick and a bit lumpy. It doesn't have springs. Chuck's throat hurts; his eyes are starting to burn again. Herc opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it. Does it again, looking soft and tired around the eyes. Then his nostrils flare, and Chuck curses inwardly. He should have fucking showered.

"Are you gonna tell me why you reek of sex?" Herc asks, carefully, like he's not sure he wants to know.

"You gonna let me crash here or what," Chuck grunts, and shoulders past him. Max snuffles happily below them, bumping his head against Herc's legs for a cuddle.

Herc closes the door gently and bends down to give Max an absent-minded scratching behind the ears. As he straightens, his face looks like someone finished ripping the floor out from underneath him.

"Well, are you?"

"I— _Chuck_ ," he says, like that one word can say everything they never managed to mangle into sentences; the worst thing is it kind of does, it drags a hitching breath from Chuck's throat and wetness from the corners of his eyes and he has to cross his arms in front of his chest to keep them from trembling.

"That thing's gonna ruin my spine," he gets out. "The mattress."

Herc looks at the bed again. "It'll be cramped," he says then, quietly.

It is, but they manage to fit into it with a surprising minimum of body contact, both of them lying on their sides, backs turned to each other.

\---

When Chuck wakes up, his right shoulder is jammed up against his dad's chest, and his head is shoved into the crook of Herc's neck and shoulder, his temple lying against Herc's scratchy jaw. The old man probably has Chuck's hair up his nose. Somehow, they managed to mix up their legs during the night, with both of Chuck's thrown over Herc's top thigh, and one of his feet hooked between Herc's lower legs.

Chuck's heart trips in utter panic, for a moment he can barely breathe, lungs refusing to draw air, and he—

…he's warm.

The blankets are a mess, twisted over them and covering less than one would, and he's warm, not just where his body presses against Herc's, but all over. He's warm, and it's not morning wood. He's warm, slow-as-molasses heat filling him up till right under his skin.

His body goes abruptly loose, relaxing with a deep sigh he can't hold in. His dad's breathing is soft and slow and even; he hasn't stirred yet. Chuck very carefully tugs the blankets into place using his left arm, as much as he can without moving the rest of his body, and lets his own breath slow until they match…

If Herc's breathing changes after a few minutes, stutters and quickens, and then very deliberately smooths again, Chuck's not about to call him on it.

**Author's Note:**

> This had its origin in [this post](http://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/post/57270585801/guys-what-if-what-if-what-if-chuck-hansen-has-no).


End file.
